


something terrible

by profound_duplicity



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, am i projecting? probably lol, bug boy appreciators unite, probably ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profound_duplicity/pseuds/profound_duplicity
Summary: How did Renfield get to where he is now? What made him the way he is? Why was he the perfect candidate for becoming Dracula’s thrall?Four scenes from Renfield’s life attempt to answer these questions.
Kudos: 6





	1. egg, larva, pupa

**(Age Six)**

Rowen wedged himself between a tree and the hedge, crawling into a spot that was well hidden away from anyone else. 

He took a shaky breath and took the piping hot poppy-seed roll from his pocket. With small, careful hands, he broke off a mouthful. 

As he chewed, he watched a ladybug inch across a leaf with intent focus. It was so small… Its little legs carried it across the hedge with surprising speed for its size, and the wings glimmered brightly in the sunlight. 

“ _ Master Renfield! _ ”

His heart stopped and he clamped his hands over his mouth before he let any sound escape. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble, young man!” bellowed Sallow, his footsteps crunching down the gravel path. Getting closer. 

Rowen clutched the bread tight, even though it burned his hands something terrible. 

* * *

**(Age Nine)**

There was a sharp  _ crack _ as Mr. Sallow smacked his cane against the table. 

“Well? Answer me, boy!”

Rowen let out a shaky breath, his grip on the pencil tightening. “S-seventeen?”

“Wrong again, Master Renfield. Sixteen.  _ Sixteen. _ ” Mr. Sallow tutted. “Your arithmetic is perhaps worse than your handwriting.”

Rowen seemed to deflate. “Yes, sir.”

“Now—what is nine times thirteen?” Mr. Sallow asked expectantly. “You may use the abacus.”

* * *

**(Age Fifteen)**

“Good evening,” he said with a nod, excusing himself from the group. 

He rounded the corner, exhaling deeply, and leaned against the wall. He had done quite well, all things considered. He hadn't stuttered once, and he had managed to make eye contact for what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time. 

He could finally go back to his room and sleep. But as he prepared to leave, Sir Corbeld spoke up. 

“You don’t really think the boy is ready to enter high society, do you Simon?” 

Renfield froze. 

Lord Clements scoffed. “Of course not.”

Renfield felt his breath catch, and he flattened himself against the wall. 

“He’s not a child, and yet he acts like one,” Clements continued. “He has his parents’ reputation in his hands, and he’s bound to ruin it the moment he makes a public appearance. If you ask me, Anton, he’s sick in the head. I hear that only last week he had some sort of  _ fit _ at Lady Sybilline’s party—kicking and scratching at his face. A failure of his parents, I’d wager.”

The group broke into hushed laughter, and Renfield wanted to sink into the floor. 


	2. imago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renfield receives a visitor in his hospital room.

Renfield stared in awe at the sparrow perched on his hand. “But… How can you help me?” he asked meekly. “I mean, you can send me birds, but that won’t get me out of the hospital.”

The voice laughed. The sound echoed in Renfield’s brain, sending a hundred identical laughs into a chorus in his mind.  **Do you really think that is all I can do? I can speak, I can visit you here in your cell; who is to say I cannot do anything I wish?**

The sparrow fluttered its tiny wings and Renfield blinked. “Like what?” he ventured.

**Like get you out of here.**

A warm breeze passed through the barred window and ruffled his hair, carrying the smell of sweet pea blossoms and freshly trimmed grass, and Renfield sighed involuntarily. He stood to walk to the window but the shackles around his feet stopped him before he could even get close, and he sank dejectedly to the ground with a  _ clink _ .

**What shall it be, Renfield?**

Renfield swallowed. “Wh-what can you offer me as well as freedom? I can escape on my own, but… I need to know if I’ll be safe.”

The voice seemed to bristle in offence at the question and the air around him chilled.  **So much, my dear. Anything you desire. I can bring you money, power, fame, love… eternal life…**

“B-but I don't want any of that!” he insisted. 

**Tell me what you** **_do_ ** **want, Renfield. What is your deepest desire? Your innermost need? Your driving force?**

Renfield looked up at the shadow in the corner with wide eyes. “I just want to live. I w-want everyone to treat me like a person. To- to have my own life, my own place, where I’m safe. Where nobody tells me what to do. Where nobody hits me, or makes me eat things I don't want to, or wear itchy clothes.” 

There was a pause. **Done.**

And with that, the presence was gone, and the room was silent once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, some of the dialogue was inspired by Little Shop of Horrors.


End file.
